Elysium
by Argentus 9
Summary: It might appear to be a eulogy at first glance, but I promise that this story will be so much more than that. For anyone who ever wanted to know every single facet and angle of James' right hand, Sirius Black. Borders between PG-13 and R.
1. Welcome to the Ethereal Plane

Series - Elysium: The Retelling of Nielliun Morne

Chapter I - Welcome to the Ethereal Plane

This story is rated R for: Language, disturbing imagery and/or themes, mild sensuality, and some sexual and drug references. R is just playing it safe... and most of these issues won't be appearing until much later in the story. 

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Disclaimer - (*)s indicate that I have taken a direct quote from J.K. Rowling. I don't own the idea of Harry Potter or the world, all rights reserved to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Press, and Warner Bros. This is a work of fiction and any similarity between the characters and real persons is entirely coincidental. 

A/N - My greatest love of the Harry Potter series has been tortured, tired, guilt-ridden, depressed, frustrated, oppressed, and ultimately fallen in the line of duty. But he has also been liberated, resolute, brave, carefree, invincible, and young in the course of his fascinating life. This is a tribute to Harry's godfather and James' right hand... and I have here attempted to immortalize him in the form of memories, the greatest way to keep a fallen comrade metaphorically alive. If I have the resolve to do so, this story will stretch from birth to a journey beyond the veil, or from a journey beyond the veil to birth... however you look at it. 

I suppose that requires an explanation. The first chapter is really the last of Sirius' life. It takes place immediately during and after his death. Upon the second chapter, it will revert and (don't be confused) Sirius will again be alive and quite unaware of his own fate. Much of this story will be told through flashbacks. In having put it together this way, elements that appear and go unexplained in the first/last chapter will slowly be revealed in the course of the rest of the story. When it's all over, I suggest that you go back and read the first chapter. I really don't have an excuse for this strange plotline other than to say that life is cyclical. 

Also, I suggest that you refer to the addendum of translations and name interpretations. Not many obscure allusions occur in this particular chapter, but just check it out. It will continually be added to with each subsequent chapter. 

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Welcome to the Ethereal Plane

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"There are some things worth dying for!" - Sirius Black, Order of the Phoenix*

Cold enveloped Sirius Black like a mantle. He felt the whispering shreds of the black, shroud-like veil brush his back, grazing his skin through the robes which seemed a weak barrier against the touch of the curtain. His chest throbbed faintly, but the phantom of pain seemed to come from another dimension. 

He must have been staggering backward quickly, but the movement felt like a drawn-out, dramatic one. It seemed as though he had a curious and remarkable amount of time with which to look at the faces of the others. They had all frozen and the expressions taking over their respective visages scared Sirius more than the knowledge that there was a forbidding, yawning portal just behind him gently pulling at his body and soul.

Inevitably, he first glanced to Harry. The son of his metaphorical other half. His godson. He looked stricken dumb. Sirius knew immediately that Harry did not understand, but would in a very few moments. He wanted desperately to save himself if only for Harry's sake and not for his own. Rivers of tears streamed down the boy's already bloodied and anguished face. Sirius felt deep regret and wondered only if he could somehow console him. There was not time. 

His consciousness flickered momentarily to others. Remus. In all his years of suffering through family strife, a previous War, and destitution in prison, Sirius had never seen a look of such utter anguish. Remus Lupin was the only true link that Sirius had had to the blissful past and he knew that he had been that solitary link for Remus. He would be left alone more than anyone else. His friend had constrained Harry and wrested him to the stone steps, choking and faltering himself. 

The ghosts of spells swam before his eyes as though they were detrimented by particularly thick air or impeded by walls of water. He knew without seeing it that his cousin Bellatrix, his own blood and yet so purely foreign to him, stood not far away. She must be elated. Sirius refused to spend his last moments contemplating or observing her. 

And he was suddenly no longer shocked or angry or disbelieving. He was only terribly, terribly afraid when he looked into the pale eyes of Albus Dumbledore. Because, in the old man's eyes, there was a look that he had never seen pass there before. It was a look of complete powerlessness and defeat. When had this wizard ever not known what to do? If the situation was out of the omnipotent Dumbledore's hands, then it was out of everyone's. 

Suddenly, as though with the movement of a wand, the scene would no longer hold itself still for his benefit. There was only a brief second in which he heard Harry's voice crying desperately for him, and then the veil opened up. 

The cold grew and the threads of the silky fabric licked Sirius Black's face like ancient cobwebs. They embraced him physically, mentally, and spiritually. All was dark and quiet and unnaturally and frustratingly serene. 

Sirius' backward fall ceased yet he had not felt his body collide with a solid surface. His eyes must have been screwed shut because he could see nothing. He must have been paralysed with the shock for his limbs were numb. However, he was no longer cold. 

The veil had released him and abandoned him somewhere warm. 

Without moving, Sirius hoped urgently that he was yet alive. But he did not immediately remember why it was so imperative that he not be dead. It seemed irrelevant at the moment. He also felt that he had and should now be frightened. Again, he knew not why. It was warm here and he could not recall the feeling of coldness any more than he could feel his feet. In fact, he could not seem to recall anything at all. He did not feel quite like himself here. But what was the 'self' anyway? Sirius couldn't grasp his mind around this missing identity.

It was not white. It was not black. But it was light. 

Sirius had always revelled in the light. For so much of his life he had been forced into the dank, nightly gloom, literally and metaphorically, but he had been meant to live in the light. The golden sun was his source of energy and when he had had his few brief times to enjoy it he had felt as though he needn't any other nourishment. 

He felt thus now. 

He did not open his nonexistent eyes or climb up from the nonexistent ground, but he somehow observed his surroundings. There was a distinct lack of surroundings. Sirius could not describe it because his mind still seemed to depend upon natural conventions and logic. There was nothing other than the light which was completely colourless. It was disconcerting, but not terrifying. 

Would it be like this forever? Sirius thought to call out and ask someone, but he could not sense the presence of any other being. Would he be alone for all eternity? Surely, this "place" was not the worst outcome but, still, he would not choose to be alone. Just as Sirius thrived on simple sunlight and contentment, he thrived on good company. 

What should he do? Was he expected to do something?

He would go forward. It seemed the obvious solution and appeared, once thought, completely correct as though he had always known. 

Directions meant nothing. Forward. It was a subconscious travel and Sirius was not even entirely sure that he moved at all, considering there was nothing to compare his progress with. He could not be positive, but Sirius did not think it took very long before it happened. 

Something was different. A slight disturbance in the purity. Sirius felt something like a shadow of what he would have called fear in life but, just as he had forgotten cold, he had forgotten fear. There were two options. He could _see_ them. 

If he should choose the one path, it was over and definite. If he should choose the other path, it could continue in a warped form. "It" was life. He could see the choices floating before him in the nothingness. 

Continue in a warped form. He had a single chance to return, he knew this. If he wanted, he could reach out and be wretched back into the physical world, a silvery wraith trapped between two extremes of existence. He also knew that he was privileged to have this choice at all. Not everyone had more than the one choice. A blinding flash of something erupted in his mind and he considered that there were many people who would want him to return. There was someone tugging at Sirius to go back and stay with him. But he could not. Sirius knew that it was not his road, that he would desperately regret it. 

There was the other path. It was so final and Sirius could not imagine in his mortal brain or in his newly acquired paranormal one what it could hold. Just as with the other choice, Sirius felt that there were people waiting behind this one but, calmly not frantically, beckoning to him. As he dwelled upon this choice, the options before him were no longer equal. The option to go back shrunk and the option to take the risk grew steadily. 

Without truly thinking it in words, Sirius moved toward the vast beyond which surely hid behind the latter option. With this resolution, Sirius had a vague remorse for the irreversible conclusion of his life. This was the end. 

This was the beginning. 

Was he falling downward or being thrown upward? Something like wind rushed past him and then there was the most intriguing element of all, something with which he had not before been confronted. He was certain that there was the fleeting presence of someone here, someone there. But they rushed past due to or in spite of this wind. 

Upon the ceasing of this, the very first thing Sirius noticed was that everything was much more understandable, much more "real", and his identity began to slowly funnel back into him. He had rammed into something rather hard. If he had felt the impact he must therefore have a body or at last a simulated one. He did. And he was standing on something. His feet were firmly planted on it. It was comforting and very different from the previous feeling, which was already beginning to fade. 

Was he alive? No. Was he in another life? No. This wasn't life, but Sirius could not have said what it was. 

Sirius brought his hands to eye level. They were familiar and yet not quite right. They were smooth, unscarred, and moved fluidly when he flexed his fingers. His wrists were strong and the left one did not stiffen as it always had since it had broken when he had been tossed roughly into his Azkaban cell and gone unhealed. His shirt was grey, his robes rusty crimson, his dragon-hide boots black and un-scuffed. When had he owned this garb? His hair tickled his forehead and he moved to brush it away. It was short and glossy. For so long it had been coarse and unkempt. He tentatively brushed his hands over his face which he found without a trace of the careworn. He felt very young and vibrant. He checked his belt out of habit for his redwood wand. It was not there, but he did not feel very concerned about it. 

Whereas the light earlier had been unearthly and indescribable, the light here was a distinct amber. It issued from the setting sun-- for it was the sun or something that resembled it. The twilight sky was a flawless bowl of oceanic indigo, meeting the land at the horizon with a slight glow of vermilion. The surface with which he had collided was a cobblestone lane, tender moss creeping in the cracks. On both sides of the road there were walls made out of similar stonework, draped in dark, waxy ivy. Beyond the walls were green and gold overgrown pastures. A knotty, heavy oak tree resided nearby. Not very far away there were clusters of old three-story village houses, candles being lit in the windows and the beginnings of fairy lights winking in their gardens. This was not Earth, but it was a damn good imitation of it, Sirius thought, for this was unmistakably Godric's Hollow, Wales. 

Feeling very heavy with his newly acquired pseudo-body, Sirius sped off at a run. But, being young, he flowed along easily, his feet pounding against the ground, barely breathing, heart barely beating. He could not run fast enough for his racing mind, however. His mind was already yards and yards ahead, waiting impatiently for the rest of him to catch up on the stoop of a certain dwelling. 

In his mind, it took too long to get there. But when he did, he was abruptly tentative. 

A familiar weather-beaten green door faced him. The knocker was simple burnished silver. The rest of the house towered over him, the windows shining faintly gold against the darkening outdoors. Hanging gas lamps fashioned in the form of dragons burned irregularly on either side of the front entrance. Sirius could smell the scents of night jasmine blooming in the yard and the rich smell of wood-smoke drifting from the chimney. A tiny pewter plaque on the door read: 

8 Chepstow Lane

Potter

Could this be possible? Even in his wildest dreams, Sirius could not have hoped that he would be dropped conveniently at the Potter's doorstep in the eternal afterlife. Feeling a cold film materialise on his forehead, Sirius took hold of the knocker and let it fall. He let it fall again. 

Nothing happened. 

No long-nosed, hazel-eyed, beaming, forgiving face appeared. Neither did a soft, emerald-eyed, melancholy face. Was this Hell, then? Was he to be tortured with these familiar surroundings devoid of the souls it was intended to hold? 

But of course! When had Sirius ever bothered to come to the formal entrance of his best friends' home? Brightened and overjoyed, Sirius vaulted legs first over the wrought iron fence into the back garden. The door here was a squat archway of battered mahogany wood, a crystal window taking up most of the top half. Sirius' throat closed up and he felt blood rush to his head as he spied a blurred figure moving in the firelight beyond the frosted casement. 

Without a second's hesitation, Sirius rapped the door with his fist. Muffled murmuring issued from within his paradise and the door creaked open, slowly at first but was then veritably flung wide. 

A face that he had not lain sight upon for fifteen years confronted him. It was unchanged, not a day older than twenty-two. Her expression was startled at first, but eased into a very sad look. "Oh, Sirius..." she whispered, stepping forward, reaching up and taking his face in her pale hands. Her eyes shone wet. "You're here." She could not seem to speak further. 

Sirius meant to say 'Lily', but found that a thick, unuttered sob had blocked his throat. 

Lily Potter very gently took his arm and pulled him into the kitchen out of the balmy night. A scratchy phonograph played a slow, faintly merry tune in a far-off room. She continued to lead him through the house. Out into the foyer and into the tiny, tight study, full of books and squashy armchairs and lamps. A form was bent low, stoking the fire in the grate. 

James did not move immediately, but finally stood in a measured manner. He turned his head and the firelight glinted off his wire spectacles. The two young men who had been more than brothers stared at each other for a long time. James looked neither shocked nor sad nor happy. But Sirius knew that his own face must betray his bittersweet emotions. 

Lacking any sort of introduction, James' face split into a wavering grin. "Welcome to the Ethereal Plane, mate." 

It was so ironic and so amusing and so entirely inappropriate that Sirius found himself laughing heartily even as salty tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes. The two embraced violently while Lily stood slightly apart, burying her face in the sleeve of her dusky blue robe. Those words and that voice was so familiar, relieving any doubts he had ever had that the afterlife would be in any way hellish. James knew just what to say. 

Finally backing away from his friend, James looked at Sirius and said matter-of-factly, "So. _What d'you reckon_?" 

"About...?" 

"About... everything." 

The words forced ten thousand things back into Sirius' head. Everything. All the events that had occurred just before his fall through the archway flooded back. Somehow, miraculously, he had pushed it out of mind while confronted with the astonishment of crossing over.

Gasping, Sirius looked at James horror-struck. "Harry! Harry, James! I have to go back! I'm his godfather and he needs me! He was screaming so! And Remus must be beside himself! Dumbledore! What if others were killed? Bellatrix Lestrange killed me! There was a battle! A terrible battle at the Ministry-- oh, the Order's been reformed-- at Grimmauld Place! Ah! Because _Voldemort's_ returned! And Death Eaters! He's been back for a year! Harry's had to fight him a load of times! He's in so much danger! I've been on the lamb, scrounging in rubbish pails and hiding in caves-- because I escaped! From Azkaban! I went to Azkaban because they thought it was me killed all those Muggles! It wasn't me, James! You know it wasn't! Peter's still alive! He's with Voldemort! We-- Remus and me-- almost killed him but Harry stopped us! He's just like you! And I've left him! I'm so sorry! Forgive me for all of it!" Sirius spluttered all of this, frantic and almost sick with the overwhelming impact of it. "Forgive me..." he added miserably, fixing his gaze on the floor. "I don't deserve to be here." And then a sudden thought occurred to him. "Where am I?" 

He found, to his confusion, that Lily had caught him up in a quick squeeze and James was looking unsurprised at this rush of news. "Don't worry anymore, Sirius," said Lily. "We know all about it." 

"How? Is Harry safe?" 

James shrugged casually at the first question and Lily replied to the second. "Harry and all the others are safe. The battle is over and Voldemort has fled. Harry is unharmed... he is very distraught." 

"I didn't mean to leave him! And I didn't mean to kill you!" He stopped and looked at them like a startled animal, appalled with himself. 

They smiled. "That was not your fault, Sirius. It was not your fault in the slightest. You have suffered more for it than anyone deserves. And you did not abandon Harry. You did everything you ever could for him. Thank you for being his father," James said earnestly, shaking Sirius' hand with both of his. 

"I..." Sirius did not know what to say, but he knew that he wanted one more thing from James. 

"You need no forgiveness, Sirius. But I know how much it means to you, mate, so... I forgive you for anything that you _ever _felt guilty about. I forgive you." 

"Thank you." Sirius felt such a heavy weight lifted off of him, a pall that had been cast over his spirit for too many years had been washed away in three words. He felt weak and sank, exhausted, into a cushy leather wingchair. 

Both James and Lily pulled up chairs and sat. Lily offered him a cup of peacefully steaming tea and Sirius accepted and sipped at it without bothering to think about from where it had come. 

"So... so you know about everything?" Sirius inquired, studying his teacup. 

"Yes. But if it makes you feel better, you can tell us all about it. Would it make you feel better?" Lily asked. 

"I don't know-- where to begin," he said helplessly. 

"I'd suggest chronological order, mate," said James with a funny twinkle in his eye. 

Sirius laughed nervously. "All right, then." 

He proceeded much more calmly than he had during his first panicked outburst, trying to make sense. He began with the night they died. He continually uttered apologies and they continually reassured him. He employed the use of Lily's handkerchief more than once. He progressed to his hunt for Peter and Wormtail's flight and wept no more after that. He told them of Harry having survived Voldemort and the fame that would come with it. He spent as little time as possible upon his conviction and time spent in Azkaban, though he told them the essentials and briefly tried to describe the wretchedness of it. He settled for saying that he would have known if he was in Hell when he died because he would have recognised it as the prison. He told them how he escaped, how he tried to catch glimpses of their son. How good he was at Quidditch. He told of the hardships of living on the run. He told them of his encounters in the Shrieking Shack and how Harry had rescued his soul. He told them how he left the country for the Mediterranean for a while and of his return. He spent some time on his long-distance correspondence with Remus. He had always tried to stay close to Harry during the Triwizard Tournament. He laboured over the details of Voldemort's return during the Third Task but remembered that they themselves had been present there. He explained all about Dumbledore convening the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry's denial. How he despised Grimmauld Place and how frustrated he had been with his captivity. He told them of Harry's struggles against his growing connection with Voldemort. And finally concluded wearily with his arrival at the Department of Mysteries and his struggle with Bellatrix. The story was wrought with confessions and mumbling. Sirius had no idea how long it took to tell, but his tea was long gone by the end of it. James and Lily never interrupted or chastised him. They only ever encouraged him and answered questions as he posed them. 

"I believe Remus and I had a running bet in Sixth Year that you would snuff it taking the mickey out of someone. He owes me seven Galleons," James said fondly. Second only to Harry they had spent the most time discussing Remus. 

Sirius meant to laugh but didn't, still lost in the vastness of it all. If someone had told him while he sat in his mother's bedroom at Grimmauld Place two days ago that he would be engaged in avid conversation with James and Lily Potter in not 48 hours, he would have thought them Befuddled. 

"Seriously, now," said Lily, wiping the smirk of her husband's face with a glance. "Are you going to be all right? It's not so terrible, truly-- being dead." 

Sirius found that he jumped. Blimey, he was dead. And he had so many questions about it now that he had freed himself of the burdens of life that had been weighing on him.

"Where are we?"

"We're Here." 

"Are there others around?" 

"Sometimes. Is there anyone you want to see?

"You know, thinking about it... not really. Nothing that can't wait. Is this Heaven?" 

"If you want it to be." 

"Is there a God? Have you seen--"

"Does it matter? Considering that we haven't left existence entirely, shouldn't it be satisfactory that someone or something cared enough to let us continue on?" 

"Does time pass normally here?"

"The sun rises every morning. It sets every evening. It's easy to lose track of time, but it's not as though ten years have passed back on Earth in what felt like five minutes here. In fact, I'd guess it's been nearly a day since you died."

"What do you do here?" 

"We wait. And do a lot of the same things you'd do in life." 

"Like...?"

"Walking. Thinking. Talking. Watching time pass. I was just now reading Quidditch Through the Ages for the four-hundred-and-eighty-second time. Lily was painting in the kitchen. You can even eat or sleep if you want, but it's very easy to forget to do so when you're not hungry or sleepy. Other things." 

"What do you wait for?" 

"For everyone to visit, of course. We've been waiting for you for a long time. Didn't expect you this soon, honestly." 

"Isn't that depressing? Just waiting for everyone you've ever known to die?" 

"No. We want the best for them, of course. In the meantime, we watch them." 

"_Watch_? Have you been watching me all this time? Is that how you know everything?" 

"Not all the time. We spent an inordinate amount of time seeing what Harry's up to. He'd be appalled. We've been checking up on everyone." 

"How?" 

"I dunno. You just... do. Sometimes we'll... intervene." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Lily occasionally does a good turn here and there for someone or other. I'm in Harry's Patronus every time he conjures it. It took quite a lot of energy appearing last year at the return of Voldemort. Things like that." 

"Can we talk to the living?" 

"Not exactly." 

"I mean, there's a portrait of me somewhere in Grimmauld Place... could I communicate through that? I gave Harry your old Conversiglass... could I talk to him through that?" 

"No, Sirius."

"But--" 

"I promise that you'll become accustomed to it. There are other ways to... make your message known." 

"Okay. Are there Muggles here?" 

"Of course. Why wouldn't they be?" 

"Er... I don't know. Why don't I have a wand?" 

"Can you think of a reason you'd need magic?" 

"I suppose not. So is this where I'll be for all eternity?" 

"Not necessarily Godric's Hollow. You can go anywhere. Or you can invent something. We're not _always_ haunting a mirage of Number 8 Chepstow Lane. Where do you want to be?" 

"Can I stay here for a while? I won't be a squatter forever or anything... just for a while..." 

"Anything you want, Sirius." 

"Thanks." 

Although James had said sleep was not necessary, Sirius felt remarkably fatigued. It was an awfully corporeal feeling considering that he was no longer alive. Lily explained that one's spirit can be worn out with too much emotion or effort. They suggested he go up to a large, comfortable bedchamber on the second floor and rest. He accepted gladly and James followed him quietly up the creaking stairs. 

Sirius was still concerned about everyone in the living world. He had long since been stripped of his arrogance due to hardship and unrelenting attacks of reality, but he knew they must be mourning him very much. He wondered absently if his lifeless body had fallen on the other side of the archway... if it was buried somewhere now. Somehow he hoped that he had been taken body and soul through the portal, but wasn't sure why. Lily and James has assured him that he must not worry himself about anyone for a while and he certainly must not make himself angry with thoughts of vengeance or hate toward those that he had held grudges against in life. It was amazing how easy it _was_ to let go of it. 

Without changing, Sirius sank into the feather mattress and sighed. He peered out the window for a moment, looking at the stars winking against the crushed velvet ebony of the sky. It was very beautiful and very silent here. 

James sat opposite him near a small table with a pewter basin. Sirius glanced at him and felt a jolt of affection for his friend and brother. James leaned his head on his hand and toyed with a thread of his brown robe. "Sirius, are you happy?" 

"Yes. Yes, I am." 

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A/N - So. What d'you reckon? Comments before I waste away! I've read a lot of these such stories of Sirius' experience after falling through the veil... some of them very, very laudable and others rather disgusting. I truly hope that my version paid some semblance of justice. It was very difficult to see the monitor through the tears, really. 

Oh, and it occurred to me that maybe Sirius should have been a little more discontented with his afterlife considering that everyone's always been saying he wasn't the type to sit around peacefully while important things were going on. True. But, 1. I didn't feel like editing it and 2. I can brush it away by saying that you aren't exactly yourself after dying. Besides, what could he do besides take the Potters' advise and take it easy? He's had such a stressful life, I think he'd really welcome the rest. 

I'm not sure what else I can say here. I didn't really include as many ambiguities as I'd planned in that dissertation, but that's all right. Didn't want to drive you insane. The upcoming chapter will revert to Sirius at Grimmauld Place and you'll see where things lead from there. I've not really kept a good chronological order, but I figure that we all know the life story of Sirius fairly well by now anyway.


	2. La Valse Fatigante

Series - Elysium: The Retelling of Nielliun Morne

Chapter II - La Valse Fatigante

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A/N - Hello again. I hope you're pleased thus far. There's room for a little more light-heartedness from here on out. This chapter will set up the circumstances for the rest of the story. 

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La Valse Fatigante

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"A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely." - Sirius Black, Order of the Phoenix*

The air that lurked beyond the comforting shield of the warm eiderdown was cold and stale, Sirius knew. He wrenched the bedcovers over his face and thought he may remain abed for some time if it meant he would be spared the sight of his miserable surroundings. 

For there was certainly nothing beyond the sheets that was worth regarding first thing in the morning. If anyone had ever told the teenage Sirius that, at thirty-six, he would awake in the very same Number 12 Grimmauld Place from which he had already once escaped, he would have scoffed and, upon realising the truth of the statement, wept. 

"Well and you're here, Sirius," he muttered to no one, pushing the sheets into his face, never wishing more to be suddenly stricken blind. 

Shroud-like, grey drapes whispered about the window, where a chill draft slithered through ever-present chinks in the casement-- a breath of depression that always seemed to creep through the house like the rattling gasps of Dementors. The walls were steely smooth and soot coated, so cave-like and so unlike Hogwarts' warm sandstone, the ceiling vague and discomfortingly too far above. Monstrous armoires and trunks littered the room, all of them full of clothes, heirlooms, and artefacts... things which Sirius considered nothing more than refuse and shameful skeletons that he must find a way to do away with. The heavy mantle-piece and hearth teemed with intricately carved, jewel inlaid, twining vipers which Sirius could have sworn slunk ever so slightly in the right firelight. 

He need not look to know all this. He could fill the chinks and block the draft, scourge and scrub the walls, light two dozen candles, bury and burn the family articles, and panel the fireplace... But he could never banish the feeling of cold breath on the back of his neck, the claustrophobia of the chamber, the lurking evidence of the house's former residents, or the constant gaze of the bright cuts of emerald and amber that seemed so eye-like in the faces of the serpents... or the permanent imprint that they had stamped upon his mind. Like a parasite, the essence of this hellish place had burrowed under Sirius' skin long ago... it had been dormant for some time, but was again awakened with his return. 

Reluctantly, Sirius peered blearily over the edge of the sheets and made out the time on the aged face of the grandfather clock residing in a dusty corner. 10:41. Later than he had thought. But, then again, Sirius hadn't been able to get to sleep very well the night before. A little rum from the cellar had aided that around half past two, effectively providing some counting sheep. 

Sirius groaned and swung his feet to the chilled floor. Something shifted in the corner and Sirius started before he remembered that it was Buckbeak settling back into his nest of dank straw. He liked the sound of the Hippogriff's rustling feathers and strange bird-like cooing as he liked the soothing sound of Crookshanks' purring. He regretted that the cat had been shipped off with Hermione to school. In certain circumstances, the simple, unconditional company of animals was better than the companionship of humans... animals didn't question or judge you. 

Sirius wondered vaguely if it was even worth the trouble of finding and dressing in day-robes. But what if someone should call? True, no one from the Order was scheduled to come by and Remus was off on some useless odyssey for Dumbledore-- something involving covert operations, or bugging networks or... socks or something. It didn't really matter if Sirius himself was not allowed to help out. But there was always the long-shot... to not get dressed would be to assume that no one would call and to assume that would be to abandon hope. That wouldn't do. 

So he pulled some rumpled green robes over his head and attempted to straighten them fruitlessly. He also donned a pair of greying socks and thrust his feet into some brown boots that he discovered under the bed. He did not bother to fasten them, but stumped downstairs with them flopping about his ankles. 

"Do I even want breakfast?" he asked himself, glancing around the dreary kitchen. He found that he was not very hungry when he didn't have anything on which to expend his languishing energy. "Just some coffee..." 

His head issued a dull pain and Sirius supposed it was due to the alcohol. "I don't understand it," he said to the empty room. "I wouldn't think that such an excellent quality--" he paused to read the label of the empty bottle which had been lying next to Kreacher's cupboard, "-- One-Hundred Proof Caribbean Rum as my parents would keep would give one a cheap-wine-hangover." 

"Master always reaps what Master sows. Yes, yes... young Master pilfering from Mistress's fine stores..." 

"It's not pilfering considering it belongs to me, Kreacher." 

Sirius did not bother to look at the house elf as he crawled from his nest. "Of course, Master," muttered the wretched little fiend. He added, "It will throw priceless china to the rubbish heap but it will not throw out the whiskey." 

"Shut it, Kreacher." 

He conjured a pot of simmering coffee on the ancient, blackened stove and nearly burnt his fingers pouring it. He sipped moodily and picked at the peeling pain on the table leg, leaning his chair dangerously far back. He knew the fine line just before gravity would take over, however. He'd discovered this the hard way during many dull Arithmancy classes. 

It seemed a thousand years ago that he'd sat in Arithmancy class. Boring as it may have been, he wished more than anything, his insides aching, to be transported back to that time. During his long days and weeks to think, he'd decided that seventeen had been the ideal age. Every other year of his life was dark or at least pale in comparison. He'd been on top of the world and that had left quite a height between himself and the ground when he'd fallen. 

"Go... clean something," he said absently to Kreacher simply because he didn't like the company of the house elf. 

"Whatever Master says... grovelling, snivelling, putrid son of a bitch it is..." 

Barking harshly, Sirius replied quickly, "Dead on, little chap! Mother _was_ rather--" 

Kreacher yelped at his faux pas and Sirius could have sworn he heard the beast beating his head against the wall and begging forgiveness from his mother's portrait down the hall. He laughed again, joylessly. 

It really hadn't been so long since Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys had left. Only a week since the brood had gone off to Hogwarts. Only five days since Molly and Arthur and Bill had returned to Ottery St. Catchpole. Only four days since Remus had gone on his quest... thing. In that time, Dung had briefly dropped by, depositing a rather dodgy looking sack which steamed ever so slightly and emitted a peculiar smell of singed hair. He presented Sirius with news no more captivating than word that the singer Celestina Warbeck was caught up in some sordid scandal with the Head of the Ludicrous Patents Office at the Ministry. 

Other than that, nothing. 

He made a face as he took a swig of coffee and found it now only lukewarm. But he forgot the coffee quickly and slammed the mug on the table when he heard a clicking and scratching from the direction of the corridor. It took a moment before he realised it would be an owl delivering a _Daily Prophet. _Of course, Grimmauld Place could not have a direct subscription, but Dumbledore received two and graciously sent one on to London with a personal owl. 

Hurrying up the short flight of dipped stone steps, Sirius loped to the front door. Wouldn't do to leave an owl waiting outside. Through the encrusted pane, he could see it shifting from foot to foot on the brief sill of one of the windows that were so like arrow-slits on either side of the entrance. It was like his parents had built a fortress against the rest of the enlightened, outside world. Cracking the door momentarily, he took the newspaper from the bird's leg and set it free. 

He made his way to a small living room on the right side of the hall which was relatively clean and bright compared to the rest of the cursed house. He slumped into a high backed emerald chair and unfolded the paper, sighing. 

Sirius choked with his next breath. 

On the front page, bold as a hag on Hallowe'en, were the words "Suspicions of Black's Whereabouts" and his own face. Sure, the photo was two years old and Sirius thanked the heavens that he no longer resembled the haggard, grey, skeletal man that scowled up at him from the parchment. But...

Skimming quickly through the obvious outline of his history, conviction, and escape, Sirius arrived at the important bit. There was a theory going about that he was in London. 

"Damn..." he muttered, a lump of lead having settled into the pit of his stomach. He read a bit farther and hit himself in the forehead with the heel of his palm. "King's Cross..." he said aloud, knowing that he must have been spotted on the platform by some Death Eater scum casually dropping their spawn off for the train. For who else would know of his being an Animagus? He knew that he wasn't really in any more immediate danger than he had been for there were always occasional reports in the _Prophet_, quoting him as hiding in Scotland-- or disguised as a vampire in Moscow-- or running a drug cartel in Reno. But it was, nevertheless, annoying because he knew Dumbledore would step up his insistence upon his remaining a shut-in. Sirius growled and turned the page, knowing that, had Kreacher been present, he would have informed Sirius that "Master always reaps what Master sows." 

As disturbing as that report had been, the newspaper had been waiting to reveal even darker secrets and Sirius thought the people at the _Prophet_ must somehow be taking a sick pleasure in torturing him personally today. 

Trespass at Ministry

Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.*

Sirius again uttered a curse. Why had he had to discover this in the newspaper instead of receiving a letter from someone earlier? A member of the Order thrown in Azkaban! and no one had said _anything_! He knew how Harry must have felt trapped at Petunia's house without information. 

Of course, the door they spoke of had been the door at the Department of Mysteries that everyone always griped so much about having to guard. The _point_ of guarding the door had been to keep people from forcing entry! What the hell did Sturgis mean by trying to get through? Sirius could not make heads or tails of it. 

Well, there wasn't a thing he could do about it right now. He felt sure that a meeting of the Order would be called in response to this and he'd have plenty of time to talk about it then. He felt a spark of sympathy for Sturgis. Six months didn't hold a candle to twelve years, but would be nothing less than dreadful. For him, Sirius remembered the first few months had been the worst. In the case of Sturgis, just as he would start to stop caring and fall into blank, banal despair, he would be set free. 

Feeling more queasy than ever with his headache and this depressing knowledge, Sirius dragged himself upstairs, entirely forgetting the _Prophet _crossword that he'd originally been meaning to work. 

Without any thought of where he was headed, he wandered into the drawing room and spied the immense, heavy grand piano that sat rotting at the far end of the chamber. It had been years and years since he'd played. 

Never exactly having missed it, Sirius had not been bad with music. He wondered if he could still manage a refrain or two. He didn't have anything better to do with his idleness. 

Stepping toward the piano which had suffered a shoddy dusting from the Weasley twins, a flood of memories rushed to Sirius. Regulus had been significantly better than his older brother at the keys, but Sirius supposed that this was borne out of no real talent and more out of a burning desire to ingratiate himself to their parents. Scientific name: "_Regulus Sycophantus"_. Sirius had never been anything but defiant. But his mother nagged him to practise and his father always cuffed him when he slipped up and made a blunder at a particularly difficult stretch of Barkwith's classical Suite. And he didn't mind playing so much. 

He lowered himself to the bench and plunked a single finger down on a random ivory dragon-tooth. It sounded very loud in the silence, and it wasn't as out of tune as he supposed it to be. Hesitating, Sirius situated his hands and began to play. 

"Haven't lost it..." he said to himself, faintly pleased, his fingers dancing lightly, if uncertainly, over the keys. He was not entirely sure what he was playing though. It was a somewhat slow, despondent tune, dwelling on certain long low notes and skittering theatrically through lighter ones. Somehow, it reminded Sirius of himself-- his happy times all too brief and his disheartening times all too drawn out. Sirius could not for all the gold in Gringotts remember the title of it. It came to him abruptly: _La Valse Fatigante_. The Arduous Waltz. 

"That's you precisely," he told himself, chuckling quietly. "The Arduous Waltz." 

Ceasing, Sirius noticed a small vial of something sitting on top of the piano. He lifted it and it left a ring on the black wood. The glass was thick and violet hued, the liquid within watery and dark coloured, slightly iridescent. It was most likely just a commonplace solution or even a cleaning concentrate that Molly had forgotten, but one could never be sure in a depraved place like good old Number 12. 

Finding himself curious, Sirius groped for his wand and pointed it at the bottle. "_Waddiwasi," _he commanded and the cork shot with force at the vaulted ceiling, not disturbing the contents much. Holding it up, he still could not determine what it was. Sirius recalled that in First Year Introductory Potions, Professor Von Lochstein had expressly stated that one must never directly inhale, but only waft, an unknown substance. He also recalled that he had not cared much for Von Lochstein. 

Sirius, the dog in him taking over his instincts, brought the mysterious beaker a little closer and tentatively sniffed from what he thought was a safe distance. He immediately felt himself go light-headed. 

"Mnemosyne Potion. How _thick_ of me," Sirius muttered treacly-- his voice sounding high-pitched and weird to his own ears-- before his head crashed into the piano and he was vacuumed into an unplanned, delusional kip. 

__

A/N - I have no idea what's wrong with me. Who knows what dimension that came from. A few amusing moments, but the main point was that short bit about La Valse Fatigante. Everything after this for a long time is very realistic flashbacks, just so you know. 


	3. Ill Progeny

Series - Elysium: The Retelling of Nielliun Morne

Chapter III - Ill Progeny

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A/N - I completely invented Mnemosyne Potion to serve my own twisted purposes, no reference from J.K.R. whatsoever. Therefore, I'll explain it briefly. If you didn't check the appendix right from the off, "mnemosyne" means "memory" in Greek. When directly inhaled it (a little like a hallucinogen) warps the nerves of the mind and acts as a catalyst to fire delusional messages. Seamlessly, the user will be transported into their own memories. You the reader will be stuck in Sirius' memories for a very long time but, in all truth, it was only a few minutes that Sirius was in the trance. Some wizards use it purposely as a means of escapism and some use it as a weapon on others because, if the brew is slightly altered, it can be used for memory modification. However, it's not exactly healthy if used frequently. I liked it better than the idea of a Pensieve and it was more original than just starting the story with "Sirius was born". Although that's about what I'm going to do now.

The chapters that deal with the years before Sirius went to Hogwarts will be pretty short and are just there for some character establishment (there's miles of words on family history in this chapter... it's not as boring as it sounds!). I don't throw in a lot of OC's, but the few that I do are pivotal. 

I'm really beginning to ramble here. Er... let's get on with the story. 

****

Ill Progeny

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"Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh!" - Mrs. Black, Order of the Phoenix*

22nd November, 1959 at approximately 4 o'clock in the morning, Tesiphone and Janus Black were granted with a firstborn son. 

"His name will be Sirius, after his great-uncle. It is, after all, the name of a star and this boy was certainly born high," echoed a hearty voice throughout the sterile-white private maternity ward at St. Mungo's Hospital. "And his middle name, darling?" 

"Phineas. In hopes that he will enter the fraternity of Slytherin." Tesiphone's voice was weak with her exertion, but managed to maintain a brittle note. 

"Sirius Phineas Black." 

Wide, curious, dark grey eyes peeked from behind sable swaddling and tiny, round fingers flexed at flushed cheeks. He surveyed the world for the first time. 

~

9th April, 1964 at approximately noon, Sirius, at the tender age of four, found himself wrenched from a solitary game of Aurors and Goblins-- in which he portrayed all parts-- and Floo powered to the very same uniform hospital ward. 

"And a name for the child?" his towering father said to his reclining mother. 

"Regulus-- another star worthy of the name Black."

"No one in the family bears that name." 

"Well and he will be Janus, for you, as well. There's nothing like naming a son after his father."

Sirius' father beamed. "So it is! Regulus Janus Black." 

The four year old, mildly bewildered and very apprehensive, clung to the hem of his father's emerald robes, mostly unnoticed, but he himself taking note of everything, especially this wailing, pink newcomer. 

~

"Great little fellows, aren't they, Tess? Siri and Reggie?" Sirius' uncle said thickly, indulging in another glass of crimson Cabernet. 

"Alec. Those nicknames are abominable. It's unrefined," replied his mother tersely, setting a tray of kingly, dark, bitter Belgian chocolates down on the coffee table. Sirius distinctly saw his cousin Andromeda sidle over while his mother's back was briefly turned and promptly disrupt the elaborate, symmetrical layout of sweets by nicking the very centre one. He had a terrible time of it not laughing when he spotted the look on his mother's face as she turned and found her display mussed. His glee faded when she shot him an accusatory look. 

"Refined? And when was the last time you bothered to call me Alecto or Meg Megaera?"

Tesiphone Black ignored her brother and swept away brusquely. 

It was Christmas Eve and Sirius was an excitable nine. 

The dark, debauched interior of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was dressed regally to the occasion and yet it was not nearly merry or bright enough to satisfy the tastes of a child giddy with the anticipation of a grand holiday. In this house, Christmas was not so much a celebration as an excuse to gather the family, display the wealth, and talk of righteousness. 

Every clawed gas sconce and every serpent candelabra had been lit, black wax hanging like stalactites from the candles' perches. Everything had been cleaned and polished so that you could see your reflection in every ebony table and every silver spoon and carafe. Dangerous and frightening articles-- the likes of which included shrunken heads, carnivorous books, and whole collections of poisons-- had been stowed in massive china cabinets and on high shelves in lieu of children, but they were nonetheless very visible and imposing. The dozens of portraits and tapestries had been meticulously inspected and dusted. There were knotty garlands of mountain pine and hemlock twisted about the banisters and doorframes and a twelve-foot black fir stood in the corner of the high-ceilinged room. Countless tiny, red candles floated among the branches, giving off a forge-like glow, ornate decorations of silver and garnet in the forms of nine-pointed stars, drakes, crescents, and snakes hung sparsely from the boughs, and black ribbon had been draped about the tree. Seven separate, neat piles of green-wrapped, silver-bowed packages sat below it, the tree towering over the gifts like a beast protecting her unhatched eggs. Soon, there would be a royal feast in the formal dining room. The three house elves had been working themselves to distraction for a fortnight.

The family was in rare form this night. Both his father's family and his mother's family were present and it had been years since they'd all found it in their hearts to come. The many-chambered house was fit to burst with houseguests and Sirius was frankly impressed that the quarters were capable of accommodating not only their bodies, but everyone's massive egos. 

Sirius' maternal grandparents had both been dead for some years. They had been the patriarch and matriarch of a small, but rather well-to-do, Northern Irish pureblood clan-- the line of Devlin. They had owned a magnificent home on the limits of Belfast with, supposedly, all their gold hoarded in the cellar, being oddly suspicious of the bank. Their source of wealth had been a thriving business of breeding Winged Horses, mainly Granians and Thestrals. According to the records, this had been the family trade since the 16th Century. Before this, nothing could be traced of the Devlins, but four centuries was quite enough to establish a family as pure. 

Sirius' mother's parents had left their wealth equally to their three children. Since Tesiphone was the eldest, she should have become mistress of the manor, but she had relinquished her status as a Devlin and taken on the much more profound name of Black. Her ancestry was not muddy in any way, but she took great pride in the fact that she had risen with marriage and that her offspring were as pure as the driven snow. In the event of Tesiphone moving house to London, the residence of the manor was delegated to the second eldest, Megaera. Sirius' Aunt Meg was an eccentric woman. She was nearly as proud as her sister, to be sure, but flaunted it much more subtly. She was short, thin, auburn haired, pallid, and eternally dressed in old-fashioned, lacy robes. She had a habit of tipping her cigarette ashes on anything she pleased and looking at you appraisingly as though you were a horse at auction that's too dim to know he's being judged. She was unmarried, but had two twin daughters only a mite older than Sirius. Her version of events told that, as a young woman, she had come in with a pureblood man for a short while before discovering he was already married. They'd renounced each other at the news of the pregnancy. Sirius thought his mother was doubtful of her sister's girls' purity, but they were dubiously accepted into the family as Devlins. The youngest sibling was Alecto-- a soft, rounded man with brown hair and tiny wire spectacles. Sirius could tolerate his Uncle Alec more than most of the family because he lost all inhibitions and pretences with the presence of alcohol. He was just as rich as the rest of them, mostly running the Devlin Equine Brokerage himself. He lived in a Belfast townhouse with his wife Eugenie-- a pureblood of the Weasley line. Everyone knew that she was not possessive of the same level of wizarding pride as the rest of them, but she politely held her tongue and did not protest when the subject arose. Uncle Alec had a strange habit of assigning pet names to everyone he'd ever come in contact with-- something that everyone else thought established him as not right in the head. Sirius and his cousin Andromeda, in fact, had come up with a list of silly names for him, their favourite and the most far-fetched being Alphard. 

While the Devlins had a few dodgy areas, the Blacks were as unadulterated as Westminster pedigree dogs. There was no more untainted family in Great Britain. They could be traced to the 11th Century with the coming of William the Conqueror from Normandy. A wizard ancestor had come to Saxon England with the Conqueror as an officer of the army and had brought the family motto "_Toujours Pur_" with him. That's how it had started. Currently, the Black circle needed no means of income that required work. Sirius' grandfather and father owned shares in every wizarding company and commodity that was worth laying hands on-- from the WWN to a fourth of the Wigtown Wanderers Quidditch team. 

Sirius' grandfather-- an immensely tall, wizened, aged man with long white hair and shrewd black eyes-- was present this Christmas Eve, currently talking finances with his father. His grandmother was sitting silently in a corner, braiding and in turn undoing the tassels of her shawl. Gran was tiny, frail and skittish, not hesitating to clap you with her walking stick if she was startled. Janus' younger brother, Fitzwilliam Black, was a very large man. He was broad-shouldered, heavy-legged, and had a square, rock-like jaw and hooded eyes. He had married Elladora Zabini, a very disturbing and often unpredictable woman, and they had three evenly-spaced daughters. Sirius was deathly afraid of both his living grandparents and Uncle Fitzwilliam and Aunt Elladora as a child. But his father's brother lived not very far away in Henley-on-Thames, so he saw much more of them than he saw of Aunt Meg or her twins. 

"Dinner will be served in just fifteen minutes or so," Sirius' mother said, assaulting the room with her domineering presence as she entered again. 

"Peckish, Sirius? Yeah, I'm hungry, too," said Andromeda quietly to her cousin, her bright eyes dancing around at everyone in the room. Andromeda was five years older than Sirius and in her 3rd Year at Hogwarts. In what the family called a "freak accident for which the school should be prosecuted", she's been Sorted into Hufflepuff House. Sirius liked her all the more for this. 

"Yeah, missed lunch today because Bellatrix was in a temper and I... took to the attic," he replied under his breath. 

"Don't you worry about her," said Andromeda, twitching her head at her sister-- a 7th Year Slytherin at Hogwarts who looked remarkably like her father and was currently boxing Regulus' ears for no apparent reason. "She's in a tizzy because I slipped Wartcap Powder in her shoes this morning. Thinking of an Engorging Spell on her hat next." She laughed, and then suddenly looked very grim. "You don't reckon we'll be dining on roast Chimaera haunches and Muggle hearts tonight, do you?" 

Also feigning real concern, Sirius said, "No. I think it's actually goose." 

And it was goose, naturally. Goose and mince pies and boiled potatoes in butter and parsley and croissants and pudding and crystallised plums and all sorts of other things. The seven total children did not talk much, but were silent due either to sullenness or an inability to speak over the food they shovelled into their mouths. The adults carefully diced their meat, took polite sips of sparkling water and wine, and wiped their mouths, talking amongst themselves. 

"Have you heard that Slytherin House now has the least number of students in the school?" said Uncle Fitzwilliam. 

The adults, all of which had been in Slytherin but Aunt Eugenie, looked at Elladora incredulously. 

"Well, that can't be anyone's fault. It's the Sorting Hat that--" 

Eugenie was drowned out immediately. "Outrageous," said Sirius' father. "This new bloke Dumbledore that's taking over must be rigging something. Anyone can see that he's a--" 

"Thinks he'll faze out the Slytherin influence, does he? People won't stand for--" 

"Heard he's becoming more lax with admissions than in the history of the--" 

In the end, they decided that everything was the new Headmaster's liability, but that it was just as well that Slytherin would probably be more exclusive with less members. It made it that much more of an honour to slip through the conniving Muggle-lover's plans and show your true colours. 

"Hufflepuff knocked the pants off Slytherin in the last Quidditch match of the term," mumbled Andromeda to Sirius around a mouthful of pudding. 

"Did you say something?" Uncle Fitzwilliam said, eying his daughter as though she were something suspicious and alien.

"No, sir," replied Andromeda, expertly donning her innocent face. 

After dinner they all exited the dining room for the drawing room so that the house elves could clean up unseen. This was an unspoken habit that they were all used to. 

Not an hour later they sent off the younger members of the family for bed and Sirius was sure that their conversation took interesting turns once sensitive ears were out of hearing. 

Unfortunately, he had to share his bedroom with Regulus because the twins, Ignigena and Fetialia, had taken over his room. The four year old Regulus was bouncing up and down excitedly in his pyjamas, squeaking about Christmas, before Sirius told him to shut up or suffer the penalties. Sirius himself was happy about Christmas in spite of himself. The Blacks may not have provided a ginger-bread perfect, sparkling Yule, but that did not change the fact that he'd be receiving presents the next morning. He had a hard time getting to sleep, but eventually drifted off. 

Sirius sat surrounded by green wrapping, toying with a six-inch-long squirming model of a Romanian Longhorn dragon that technically had been given to Regulus and lazily licking a blood pop (which, contrary to popular belief, tasted of cinnamon). Andromeda was sitting next to him and inspecting every inch of every piece that had come with her beautiful, but slightly sinister, new marble chess set. The blonde, dainty eight-year-old Narcissa was looking at herself in an enchanted mirror that continually called her everything from "Princess" to "Undisputed Empress of the Known Universe". Andromeda looked thoroughly disgusted with this. 

It had been a good haul and a good morning. Andromeda had refrained from torturing her sister on the holiday and Bellatrix was at least not openly violent. The adults were indolent and banal as they watched their children. Most of the wives had received dazzling, Goblin-wrought jewellery studded with large diamonds from their husbands and most of the husbands had received new formal robes or a box of the finest cigars or whatnot from their wives. 

But Sirius should have known by his age that not even Christmas could be too ideal in the Black household. It came not in the form of a row or a punishment, but something much more subtle and much more deadly. 

Sirius and Andromeda had been sneaking about in the hallway (silver ribbons stuck in their hair and dragging from their ankles, butterbeer clutched in their hands, tickling the sleeping portraits of ancestors to see if they could be coaxed into a giggle-- which they couldn't), when they heard voices issuing from the sub-basement kitchen. Sirius' mother and his Aunt Elladora had gone down for some reason or another. 

Andromeda held her finger over her lips to signify stealth and crept quietly toward the slightly ajar door that led down the steps to the kitchen. Sirius thought this was a risky business. He knew from experience that eavesdropping was punishable by more than a sit in the corner where his mother was concerned. 

"... and who knows who's pure these days. I swear, Mudbloods should have their foreheads branded," a woman's voice, his mother's, was saying. 

Andromeda looked exasperated and made to turn. "Just more pureblood claptrap--" she said, but stopped when they heard something else. The cousins' interest perked. 

"Sometimes I think my own daughter will surface turncoat one of these days. Andromeda doesn't even have the self-respect to be ashamed that she's in _Hufflepuff_. I've caught that girl rolling her eyes more than once," said Aunt Elladora waspishly. 

Sirius looked at Andromeda, wide-eyed, but could not interpret her face. 

"It's not your fault, Elladora. It never is. Sometimes even the best of families are cursed with radical children. You must try your best while she's young because she won't listen to a word when she's older. They're easily brainwashed by talk of equality and progressivism at her age. You've got to counteract it." 

"I know. I know. But I'm having a hard time controlling what kind of a crowd she pays company with at Hogwarts. I try to set Bellatrix-- wonderful young girl-- as a guard, but Andromeda continually avoids her and she'll be graduating after this year. "

"Ah. It's not just you has this problem. We must keep a close eye on all of them." 

"Yes. I don't worry myself about Narcissa. She's not the patriot Bellatrix is, but she'll follow the right path. But your sister's girls..." 

Sirius' mother made a choking noise. "Don't remind me, Elladora. For their own sake, they must hope they're Sorted into Slytherin, show some proper pride, and make respectable marriages, or they're doomed. Questionable background."

"But doesn't Meg claim...?"

"Oh, she _claims_. I know my sister's not exactly a blood traitor herself, but I don't doubt there's a skeleton in the closet somewhere. She was young when she got herself in that condition. Who knows, it might have been any Muggle-born or half-breed that duped her and fathered them. She won't elaborate on the subject." 

Aunt Elladora murmured accord and Tesiphone continued. 

"But I was thinking of something a little closer to home. Janus is concerned about Sirius." 

By this time, Sirius and Andromeda were staring horrified at each other, glued to the spot, Christmas and butterbeer forgotten. 

Sirius' mother's voice sounded cool and casual. "You'd think Sirius was bred by Muggles the way he acts. I know already we're going to have trouble with him." 

"It's a shame, Tesiphone. Your firstborn..." 

"I will not be an iota surprised if that boy's Sorted into _Gryffindor_ or befriends a Mudblood or marries a _mermaid_ or some nonsense! He shows no respect and Janus fears he'll turn on us." 

Andromeda had absently clutched Sirius shoulder and she was shaking with rage. Sirius, on the other hand, was not angry but sadder than he'd ever been. The boy that had been so elated with the simple pleasures of Christmas had just discovered that he was unloved. "My own parents hate me..." he thought to himself, looking at the floor. 

Elladora's voice drifted through the crack in the door again. "Ah. There's a few ill progeny in every generation. They'll be weeded out in time." 

__

A/N - Just go ahead and tell me if that was pointless. I know that some stuff dragged, but it's really, really necessary that you know that much boring stuff about Sirius' family. The main point, of course, was Tesiphone and Elladora's chilling conversation at the end. You'll notice that the main theme of each chapter will usually be the title (how novel!). 

Let me just say that I DO NOT fancy myself the same Fetialia as the Fetialia in this story (you'll see more of her later). It's just that I liked the name for her and I thought also that the name was appropriate for me because it means "mediator between war and peace" and I try to keep a balance between angst and humour in my stories. So, I'm not delusional or anything. 

Thanks to my reviewers:

BellethePhilosopher'sCookie

toril moon

Dude Where's My Cheese

Katyla

[Anonymous] Fan

_Thanks ever so much for your support! I can't believe I actually made people cry!_


	4. The Peculiar Institution

Series - Elysium: The Retelling of Nielliun Morne

Chapter IV - The Peculiar Institution

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A/N - Okay, this chapter deals a bit with house elves. We're all painfully aware of those "trophies" mounted on the wall of Grimmauld Place. Ewww... right, er... 

So I'm just writing a quick piece about that! Also, Dumbledore seems to deal Sirius a pretty abrasive reputation when it comes to his treatment of Kreacher at the end of Order of the Phoenix. I just wanted to develop that a little (mostly in Sirius' defence) and expand Sirius-the-child's personality at the same time. 

Personally, I don't really care for house elves. I mean, you wouldn't catch me with a S.P.E.W. badge. I tend to find them annoying. However, I certainly think they deserve better than they get! Anyway, I've been rather off on this subject lately, so I've just included it in a chapter here. I'm beginning to ramble...

Anyway, welcome to the fourth instalment of Elysium! Hope I haven't been depressing everyone too much! Well... yes, I do. That's sort of the point. Yes, I am evil. 

****

The Peculiar Institution

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"If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." - Sirius Black, Goblet of Fire*

Over two years had passed since that Christmas when Sirius and Andromeda had crouched outside a door and listened to their parents discuss them like dirt marring the otherwise perfect white of a field of snow. Listened to their mothers talk of them like cockroaches. 

Sirius was eleven and he was currently testing his luck to see how long he could remain in his room before his mother sent a house elf to rouse him to breakfast. He dreaded the sound of a polite cough outside his door and a "Young master is beckoned to the table."

It was a warm day in May and Sirius was ticking off the days till he was due to receive a letter from Hogwarts in mid-July. Sirius was reading a very interesting book about centaurs. He was currently captivated by a thrilling chase in which a clan of centaurs chased a band of greedy wizards from their forest with arrows and spears, but Sirius found himself getting hungry. He mentally weighed the torture of his mother's presence versus the torture of his grumbling stomach. "Perhaps I can make do with a few toffees..." he said to himself, fishing a bag out from a drawer in his bedside table. 

As it turned out, Sirius _was_ forced downstairs by the voice of a house elf, but it came not at all in the form of a courteous summons. He was just popping a candy in his mouth when he started horribly and nearly toppled from the dais upon which his four-poster bed was raised. 

Inhuman, shrieking hysterics wafted up three flights of steps to the second floor and Sirius thought surely his blood must be congealing in his veins at the very sound of it.

While rows were commonplace in the household, Sirius had never heard real screaming. He haphazardly threw on jeans and a shirt, forgetting to remove his nightshirt first. He realised this as he was dashing out the door, but decided it wasn't worth fixing it. The screech issued again, sounding less surprised and more desperate this time. 

Sirius vaulted over the banister when he was a few steps from the ground floor, landing fairly lightly, and sped off down the corridor. The din was coming from the basement. 

It was the most insane scene Sirius had ever seen. 

His father was yelling at his mother, waving his hands in the air. His mother was hissing at his father and shooing a young, protesting Regulus out of the kitchen. Regulus was putting up a decent fight. "But I want to see!" he was saying and Sirius wondered what he meant. All three house elves were going absolutely spare, all of them still squeaking and tumbling over each other in their panic. "No, Master! No, Mistress!" they were prattling incoherently and it took Sirius a moment before he realised what was wrong with these words. When had a house elf ever said "No, Master" or "No, Mistress"? It was the most improper thing a house elf could do in its miserable life-- refuse a direct order-- and Sirius had never, ever seen one of their own elves dare to do so. What could the order have been that it caused this riot?

The oldest elf, a crooked little thing named Teensy, was cowering behind the other two, wringing her knobbly hands and chewing on her filthy coal sack that she wore as a toga. She was bordering on senile as house elves go and she wasn't good for anything involving hard labour. She had been in the family for a long time and was nearing 90 years old. Her son, a sprite and strong but slightly temperamental elf named Kreacher who had lent the most volume to the cries of "no", was laying hands on everything from kitchen chairs to frying pans and was attempting to construct a pathetic barrier between them and the wizard family. The other, a usually benign elf named Blirp, was humming to himself madly and had grabbed Teensy's head and pressed it forcefully to his chest, nearly suffocating her. 

Suddenly, as Sirius opened the door and took all this in in a few seconds, three waist high figures dashed past him and away, knocking him down the steps. It took him a few moments to realise that it had been Kreacher and Blirp, hoisting the near-weightless, bony Teensy over their heads, and making a run for it. 

"GODDAMN, Sirius!" his father roared aggressively, marching over to him and hoisting him up onto his tiptoes, fist clenched at his son's collar. "We'll never find the little bastards now!" 

Sirius did not know how to respond to this, confused and intimidated. His father's face was a blotchy crimson, his salt-and-pepper hair rumpled, and Sirius only noticed that he held a butcher's knife clamped in his other hand as he was released roughly. 

"You _had_ to open the door!" his mother shrieked shrilly, her short stature seeming much larger than it really was when she was angry.

It took all his nerve to ask, "What's happening?" Sirius was badly shaken, but he always had nerve.

No one answered him, but his father stamped away, violently flinging the massive knife at the wall where it shivered, embedded, and sent a reverberating hum echoing from the walls. "Take your brother," snapped his mother, shoving Regulus toward him. 

"Think they went to the attic?" said Mr. Black to his wife, biting his words off sharply. 

"They'd know we'd look there first, Janus," replied Mrs. Black, rubbing her eyes. They were becoming a bit more coherent. 

"What's happening?" Sirius repeated, stamping on Regulus' foot as he leaped up and down, looking fit to wet himself. 

"We were just about to put the thing out of her misery when you let them escape." 

"Out... of her-- misery?" Sirius stammered. 

"They were gonna cut off Teensy's--" 

"SHUT UP, REGULUS!" bellowed their father. 

"_You were going to decapitate Teensy?!"_ said Sirius incredulously, his eyes feeling like they may drop out of his head at the sheer madness of this idea. 

His mother promptly took both her sons by the ear and led them painfully out into the hallway and into an antechamber. Sirius stared at his mother, wondering whether her soul had been replaced with that of a troll over the night, assuming that she possessed a soul at all. 

Sirius had always thought that, disregarding his dislike for his brother, he and Regulus looked rather similar. Now-- looking at this face which was so physically like his own-- he thought he saw absolutely no resemblance when it was plastered with a look of such hunger and strangely un-childlike wanton expectation with the promise of blood. And Sirius had always seen his brother as a predictable, spineless git with Jarvey dung for brains. He now thought he may need to reconsider this impression. 

Sirius was feeling very insecure and very threatened. "Mum?" he asked tentatively, using the name that he very rarely used. 

She looked exasperated. The lines around her eyes were pronounced as she narrowed them. "You've seen the plaques in the corridor," she said as though this were a sufficient explanation. Sirius would require much more exposition. 

"Yeah! They're all wrinkled and twisted--" Regulus exclaimed. 

"What about them?" Sirius interjected. 

"Well, the family's been doing this for generations. Once elves have served their purpose... wizards have always... disposed of them. Since the Middle Ages. For a long time." She seemed to be trying to make a point. Sirius was not at all impressed by the appeal of tradition. 

"So? It's illegal now. There's got to be a law that says you can't--" 

"A superficial law. The family stopped about a century or so ago, but your Aunt Elladora says there's a loophole in the law and they've been carrying on the tradition for about ten years now. Even if caught... it would just be a fine or something, Sirius." 

"That's not the point!" said Sirius, realising his voice was becoming too loud if he didn't want to anger his mother. 

"And what is the point, boy?" Mrs. Black replied, irked. "Elf rights? You know perfectly well they don't have any practical rights." 

"Yeah, but... Teensy's always been good. She worked really hard and all... she's just a bit old. I'll... I'll take care of her myself." 

Tesiphone Black looked as though she had just heard her son say "I've just lain a 13" Augurey egg". Sirius was mildly surprised at his own words. 

"_Take care of her_? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You're not going to mollycoddle an ailing house elf, Sirius. It's below you and I won't hear of it. As for Teensy being a good servant, I'd call her adequate. She dropped a tea tray yesterday and Elladora says that's the beginning of the end for an elf. She goes. As soon as we can find her. I've got a good mind to send _you_ after her." 

Sirius shook his head violently. He didn't want to be responsible for the capture of a doomed house elf. Of the three servants, he was the most fond of Teensy. Sure, sometimes she was forgetful and didn't make sense, but he was somewhat creeped out by Kreacher and Blirp had the intelligence of an especially obtuse toad. Maybe she _was_ better off dead, but he didn't want to see her beheaded. 

"You let them escape," said his mother, annoyed. Then, more to herself, "Perhaps they're in the dumbwaiter shaft..." 

"Do you have to cut her head off? I don't want to see her head hanging on the wall." 

"What? Weak-stomached? Just think of it like a deer..." 

The look on Sirius' face must have belied his disgust. "Fine. That's it. You don't have to watch, Sirius, but I swear that elf is not long for this world. They're not human, you know. Decapitating them, it's just... well, just like chickens, boys." 

With that, she stalked away, muttering under her breath. Sirius was frankly surprised that she hadn't been more harsh with him considering his transgressions. "Chickens don't plead with you," thought Sirius silently. He wondered again why she had been so gentle and also wondered if it had had anything to do with his quoting house elf decapitation as illegal. Did she think he was going to tell someone? Who would he even have told? He hardly knew anyone outside of his psychotic family. Perhaps he'd write to Andromeda... it sounded as though she'd had to deal with this before. 

"What are you on about, Sirius?" said Regulus, bringing him back to reality abruptly. The 7-year-old's face was alight with that disturbing bug-eyed look of expectation. It bothered Sirius greatly. "Want to go see if we can find them? Mum said about the dumbwaiter..." 

"You, you get away from me," said Sirius, stepping away from his little brother. 

He returned to his room, his head feeling hot even as he broke into a slight cold sweat. Sirius was coming to the conclusion that his parents were not only haughty and elitist, they were sadistic. Sure, the decor had always implied that, but it was now so open. _Beheading the house elves_? Sirius was not even remotely hungry anymore and he couldn't imagine how he ever would be. 

Was there any way to stop it? No. Not realistically. They were going to find Teensy and kill her and punish the others within the next hour or two and there wasn't anything to be done within that span of time. He'd easily be overridden in any endeavours at protest. He could conceivably make his parents pay afterward, but that was dodgy. He could talk to Andromeda or somehow send an owl to the Ministry of Magic. But that would never work... his parents gave thousands of galleons to the Ministry every year and they'd let something like house elf abuse slip through the cracks without a second thought. So there was nothing he could do. 

Sirius, not really thinking about it, finally got dressed properly, made his bed, and tidied up. He wasn't sure _why_ he did this. He was not a tidy person by any means and was usually content to let his room collect clutter and dust until he could no longer hurdle the piles (in which case, he cleared a path from the door to the bed, the bed to the dresser). However, he supposed that now he was doing it simply to keep from sitting idle. If he was busy it wouldn't bother him so much...

He did not leave his room for hours and he heard no news. He knew that, had something happened, the brat Regulus would have burst into his room, screeching about blood and tendons and spinal cords and... Sirius swallowed hard and returned to taking a ridiculous inventory of all his comic books. 

Twice, he'd thought he may have to vomit, but managed to control it. Knowing he'd regret it, but losing his mind with the internment of his room, he opened the door and crept out into the hall. The house was silent. 

Remembering that his parents had discredited the attic as too obvious, Sirius decided that that's where he'd go. He didn't think the elves would be there either so it was the most neutral place to go. 

The attic was a ghostly, strange place. More so than the rest of the house. Light filtered through large, circular, amber-coloured windows at each end of the long loft. The eaves slanted sharply above, a good 14 feet high at the very peak. The yellowish lighting gave everything an old, dry appearance and the rays illuminated floating dust motes, drifting unhurriedly in mysterious slipstreams. There were mountains of crates, most of them covered in sheets and tarps. There was broken, mouldy furniture and boxes full of spare candles, boxes full of winter clothing, boxes full of books that wouldn't fit in the library, boxes full of... ears? 

Sirius jumped before he realised that the six fleshy ears he'd seen poking from a box were not severed, but attached to the quite-alive heads of the three house elves. He cursed under his breath. He didn't want anything to do with it. 

"Hello," he whispered to them and they replied with a look of sheer terror. All three of them sported bruises and evidence of battery. They must have been punishing themselves severely for their unimaginable misbehaviour. 

"Young master!" squeaked Kreacher, horrified. Compulsively, he snatched up a heavy, serpent candlestick and began to beat himself in the face with it. Sirius wrested it away from him. 

"Stop it!" He looked at the quailing form of Teensy and again felt sick. "Why are you hiding in the attic?" Obviously he meant, "Why the attic and not somewhere more creative", but they misunderstood.

"Master and Mistress wish to dispose of Teensy!" said Blirp, looking at Sirius as though he must be rather slow. "Teensy is a good elf! Teensy should not be treated so! Teensy--" 

"I know, I know! I mean, if they come up here they're sure to find you. We've got to find a better place to hide you." Sirius knew he'd be in extreme trouble if his parents discovered that he'd _helped_ rather than exposed the house elves. They did not respond, but continued to cower. 

It took a few minutes, but Sirius managed to find a place that was much less accessible and much less obvious than the crate that they had chosen. After all, he had spotted them immediately upon coming up to the attic and he hadn't even been looking. It was a nook under the eaves, camouflaged with cobwebs and loose insulation. It was very difficult for Sirius himself to even reach as he had to tread carefully over the beams (the gaps between were stuffed with only insulation and plaster and-- should he step on it-- his foot would crash through the ceiling of whatever room was right below. His parents would probably avoid something like that. Of course, if they suspected the elves in this new hiding place, they could simply Summon them...

Kreacher and Blirp again hoisted the mumbling, slack-jawed Teensy over their shoulders and skipped out over the beams, their dull, grey-tan skin blending in beautifully with the background as they nestled into the niche. Sirius could tell that they were still horrified with themselves for their blatant disobedience. Sirius was impressed with their resolve-- that they hadn't given in to their innate nature and given themselves up. 

"Stay there and don't you let them catch you," said Sirius urgently, hoping that his order would override his parents orders to reveal themselves. 

He stood stock still. He'd just heard something creak below. Were they finally coming up to the attic? Yes. 

Thinking quickly, Sirius did not hide because he knew that if they found him hiding it would look suspicious. Instead, he began digging through a box of books, flipping through their pages and looking as though he earnestly was looking for something. 

His mother's head appeared as she climbed the steps, followed by the rest of her body and then his father's. Sirius looked up, trying his hardest to look as though he'd just noticed them. 

"Sirius? Get out of here," growled his father, openly irritated with their lack of evidence as to the whereabouts of the renegade house elves. 

"I was just looking for a..." 

"Go, Sirius!" hissed his mother, also at her wit's end. "We don't have time for your house elf rights drivel. Go on! _Allez-vous, garçon!" _she said, reverting to the angry French that she used when running out of legitimate options in English to express her point. 

He had to go or risk their scepticism about why he was in the attic. He brushed past them, attempting to put on a look of indifference. 

Late in the afternoon, as Sirius was again ensconced in his room, he heard a strange scuffling in the hallway, followed by eerie silence. He heard two heavy pairs of feet making their way down the stairs. With the poignant absence of three lighter pairs, Sirius' heart leapt and he thought perhaps they hadn't found the elves. Of course, they couldn't stay in the attic forever, but Sirius was living in the moment, as he always did. 

Bucking up his nerve, he made his way to the door and peeked out a tiny crack. Then he opened it a bit wider, slipped out, and looked over the landing banister a few feet away in the hall. Looking down, he saw two bulky, silhouetted shapes making their way down the dark stairwell below him. 

"Why are they so large?" he thought to himself before coming to terms with the reason. His mother's small, skinny form was laden down with Kreacher. His father's already heavy frame was exaggerated with Teensy and Blirp. They were caught. And they were going quietly. 

Sirius heard no scream. He heard so signs of punishment. In his mind, he imagined he heard the _thwock_ of a blade, but knew that it was not real. Somehow, the quiet was more disturbing than the clashing that may have happened. He did not see Regulus for the rest of the day and assumed that his brother had not witnessed the event, perhaps having been locked in his room to keep him away. Sirius did not go down for dinner and, though he still felt ill, his stomach rumbled horribly, empty for the whole day. 

The next morning, when Sirius went down to breakfast, not a single word was said of the day before. His parents were strangely and very falsely bright, talking to Sirius of his going to Hogwarts soon. Sirius replied minimally and monosyllabically, eating mechanically. 

He caught glimpses of both Blirp and Kreacher clearing away the breakfast dishes as he left the dining room, but there was no sign of Kreacher's mother. No one ever acknowledged her absence, but she was just... gone. 

There was only a single sign that something was different in the house. And it, like the silence during the execution, was very subtle and very unsettling rather than barefaced and terrifying. Kreacher's personality had changed entirely. 

Of course, he'd always been a bit off, but Sirius now downright avoided him. In the span of the next few weeks, he wandered into Sirius' room, boldly, a couple times and began rambling about the honour that it was to serve the noble family of Black. He talked about how he would gladly do anything the Blacks ever asked of him and Sirius could have sworn he heard the elf mutter something about plaques under his breath. After a few minutes of this, Sirius always shooed the elf out. He was flabbergasted that the experience had not made Kreacher defiant as would have made sense, but only that much more fawning and obsequious. It did not make sense to the straightforward mind of Sirius. 

Also, he purposely avoided the corridor where he knew the house elf heads were mounted. He doubted that his parents had put up Teensy's head (at least not yet), but it was still a hair-raising reminder. With all the time he had to think, Sirius finally deliberated upon a decision. Not only was the decapitation of house elves appalling, the entire system of slavery was a strange and archaic institution that seemed out of place in the 20th Century. A peculiar institution. 

Sirius lived just one day to the next, trying to keep himself occupied, and existing only for the Hogwarts letter that he knew would be coming to take him away. 

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A/N - Wow. Only a couple references to the Appendices in that whole chapter! I'm proud of myself for skimming it down, really.

Well, I'm going for a lake holiday for the next week and then I've really got to catch up on some Summer Term assignments, so this may be the last update for a little while. I have many, many things planned, though! 

Thanks again to my reviewers, some old, some new: 

BellethePhilosopher'sCookie - thanks so much for acknowledging me in your bio! Yes, it's highly unfair that J.K.R. killed Sirius and I had to write the first chapter of this story to deal with the pain else I may have lost my mind and screamed or beat my head against the wall or developed an unhealthy obsession with cucumbers. NO, I'M KIDDING! Oh, and I've never even had formal schooling with Latin or Greek. I'm a fourth-year French student, but I'm just a liguistic freak in general. 

LilyoftheValley - thank you for reassuring me that my ramblings of Sirius' family weren't too boring. Yeah, I've ALWAYS had this picture in my head of Sirius playing the piano in a room all alone. I've even got some sketches of it. So I just decided to throw it in here to... get it out of my system or whatever. Thanks!

dingledoo - I continually find it amazing that people are so touched! Anyway, I guess you could say Lily and James are changed a bit by the afterlife. They're not different people by any means, but they're just more subdued and peaceful. You'll notice that it's already working on Sirius by the end of the chapter. Although, you'll eventually see that some of the things James said WERE pretty funny. You'll just have to keep reading to understand. 

Lassemista - I've already thanked you, mon amie (that means 'my friend', remember? lol), but I will thank you again. Thanks! Thanks also for adding me to your favourites list. You brighten my day when all my other friends abandon me! (That sounds cheesy, right? lol). 


	5. Appendices Translations and Name Interpr...

Series - Elysium: The Retelling of Nielliun Morne

Appendices - Translations and Name Interpretations

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In Order of Appearance.

Elysium - the classical perception of the heavenly afterlife; the Romans' ideal of wide fragrant plains and sun that greets fallen heroes. 

Nielliun Morne - "sirius black" in Quenya, one of J.R.R. Tolkien's ingenious Elven languages and one which, in the realm of fantasy lovers, rivals the importance of Latin or Greek.

Sirius - name given to a cluster of three stars, Sirius A, B, and C, Sirius A being the closest star to planet Earth other than the Sun; the constellation has been christened "the dog star". 

Remus - twin brother of Romulus, legendary founder of Rome and supposedly raised by wild wolves.

Lupin - "relating to the wolf" in Latin.

Bellatrix - "female warrior" in Latin.

Albus - "white" in Latin; Albion was an archaic, personifying name for the island of Britain.

Dumbledore - "bumblebee" in Old English; refers to J.K.R.'s envisioning of the Headmaster wandering about humming to himself. 

Chepstow - upon geographical study, the fictitious village of Godric's Hollow appears to be near the real town of Chepstow in eastern Wales; interestingly, J.K.R. grew up in Chepstow.

Voldemort - "flight of death" in French; more than just a convenient anagram of "Tom Marvolo Riddle".

La Valse Fatigante - "the arduous waltz" in French. 

Kreacher - a play on "creature", of course.

Regulus - "little king" in Latin; a historic Roman emperor, rather naive, who was taken captive during the Carthaginian Wars and died in prison, tortured to death; the brightest star within the constellation Leo, "the lion". 

Barkwith - according to the collectible Chocolate Frog cards, Musidora Barkwith was a 17th Century wizarding composer.

Mnemosyne - "memory" in Greek; one of the original Elder Gods in the Greek Pantheon.

Tesiphone - Tisiphone was the first of the three Furies or Erinyes, in Greek mythology, that resided in the underworld, where they took their satisfaction in torturing souls.

Janus - the (literally) two-faced Roman god of the month January; technically it alludes to "fresh beginnings" in the Roman ideology, but I'm employing it to mean "cold beginnings"-- referring to the nature of Sirius' father's personality.

Phineas - a king of Thrace, in Greek mythology, who was continually plagued with hardship; refers to Phineas Nigellus, Sirius' great-great-grandfather, a Slytherin who became one of the most ineffective and disliked Headmasters Hogwarts has ever known. 

Andromeda - "ruler of men" in Greek; a legendary princess of Ethiopia who married a god and who's blood gave life to the Persian civilization; her story appears in the Roman writer Ovid's account _Metamorphoses IV_. 

Alecto - the third of the three Furies or Erinyes (see "Tesiphone"). 

Megaera - the second the three Furies or Erinyes (see "Tesiphone"). 

Toujours Pur - "forever pure" in French.

Chimaera - "a rare, vicious, bloodthirsty Greek monster with a lion's head, a goat's body, and a dragon's tail" according to "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them". 

Ignigena - "born of fire" in Latin.

Fetialia - "mediator between war and peace" in Latin. 

Peculiar Institution - a historical euphemism for slavery in the 18th and 19th Century United States, making it seem acceptable as a tradition and "institution; here refers to house elves.

"Allez-vous, garçon" - "out with you, boy" in French. 

Jarvey - "an overgrown ferret capable of witless speech" according to "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them". 


End file.
